"I was watching the replay. The overtime goal is already trending."
"Cole," I say. "If you talk about hockey highlights while Dante's hand is on my ass, I'm going to lose my mind."
"Multitasking."
I reach back and grip his hair. "Focus."
His mouth finds the back of my neck. His teeth graze the spot below my hairline. Before I can stop them, my hips press back. He found that spot the first week we were together and has been using it against me ever since.
Dante pulls my shirt over my head. His mouth drops to my collarbone, then lower, tongue tracing the curve of my breast before his lips close over my nipple. The pressure is firm. His teeth follow, and the sting pulls a sound from me I stopped trying to control years ago.
Cole's hand slides from my stomach between my legs and over my underwear, two fingers pressing where I'm already wet. The cotton is damp under his touch.
"Already?" he murmurs against my neck.
"You try being between the two of you and see how long it takes."
Cole lifts his hand. Dante pulls my underwear down, and Cole's fingers find me bare. With the pad of his middle finger, he circles my clit, slow and steady, pressure exact. He learned me early and kept paying attention.
My hips roll into his hand while Dante's mouth stays on my breast. Cole's fingers work between my legs, and my grip tightens around Dante without meaning to.
Against me, Dante shifts and strips his boxers. I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his cock, the barbells warm under my palm. I trace each one from base to tip. The third makes his abs clench. The fifth pulls a sound from between his teeth. The sixth sits just below the head, and when I press it and hold, his hips jerk into my fist.
"Maya."
"Patience."
His hips shift into my hand. "I have patience."
"You have the illusion of patience. There's a difference."
"She's right," Cole says, still working me with his fingers. "You have zero patience. You just hide it well."
"I'm being critiqued during sex."
Cole's teeth graze my neck. "You're being loved during sex. The critique is a bonus."
I stroke Dante while Cole strokes me, and the three of us find the rhythm one inch at a time. Cole's fingers increase pressure when Dante's breathing changes. Dante's mouth finds my throat when my back arches into Cole's hand. They adjust before I ask.
"I want you both," I say. "Tonight. Cole first."
Dante pulls back, and Cole rolls me onto my back before settling between my legs. His mouth moves over my throat, my jaw, my mouth, and then he pushes inside me.
My back arches off the sheets. His hands find mine and pin them above my head, fingers interlacing, grip steady and warm. Slowly, he moves, deep strokes hitting the spot that makes my fingers tighten around his.
"There," I breathe.
"I know where it is."
My nails dig into his fingers. "Cocky."
"Accurate."
He rolls his hips, changing the angle, and I wrap my legs around him to pull him deeper. The sound he makes is quiet, pressed into my neck.
Dante moves in behind Cole where he kneels between my legs. His hand traces Cole's spine, then reaches for the lube in the nightstand. Cole's body stills for a moment, and his forehead drops to mine.
"Ready?" Dante says to Cole.
